


Embracing Humanity

by Peacockery



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Acceptance, Bonding, Character Death, Enemies, Exploration, F/M, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, Mondatta is mentioned but there in spirit, Not quite romance but still pretty sappy, Opposites Attract, Public Display of Affection, Understanding the Enemy, contrasting characters, trapped together, writing challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 05:47:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15767844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peacockery/pseuds/Peacockery
Summary: Two different wanderers with shared curiosities meet under a storm-kissed shelter. What makes one human?





	Embracing Humanity

**Author's Note:**

> This was a personal writing challenge upon myself to see if I can use only in-game voice lines to create a scenario for two wildly different minds with similar abilities to come together.
> 
> Although really, the entire reason I was inspired to write this was after I heard a rare exchange in game between my Zenyatta and a teammate's Moira while we were waiting for a round to start. x) They do acknowledge each other! CANON.

“You seem in need of aid.”

It wasn’t the most pristine night on King’s Row. As in true English fashion, heavy rains had been pelting the brick and mortar like dropping buckets all day and well into the evening. Her umbrella had been taking a dutiful beating though she could now see from above that one of the limbs was starting to bend under the strain on the fabric. The winds were merciless today.

But not in this alcove. In the middle of the small square stood the gorgeous bronze statue of a noble machine and a little girl, and in his memory there now lay a small nook at the base for visitors to take shelter during reflection. Moira tightened her good hand around the folds of her duster, having been unable to button up the coat when the heavy gusts came. It was as if the world was trapped in a maelstrom of sorrow in this tiny patch of city. Without her visor and machinery hooked up to her, she felt the uneasy reminder that she was just like every other drowned soul here, powerless to the bite of unstoppable nature.

She squinted at the memorial plaque to the statue, but her true attention was towards the Omnic sharing the space with her. In the cramped quarters she was almost pushed out, taking the brunt of the flurry against her back and the outstretched umbrella held awkwardly behind her head. It was a vain effort to keep his circuitry and plating dry under these conditions.

Drifting serenely above the grimey cobblestone, Zenyatta was lost to his meditative thoughts. Palms upturned onto crossed knees, his fingers twitched in soundless rhythm to the bobbing of each mala slowly orbiting around his head. She watched his head tilt up as his voice box crackled to life under the intense moisture.

“You have my thanks.”

Many Omnics spoke with sharp tones, not out of malice but due to the limitations of their processors. Not Zenyatta. His words came as smooth as silk. Like honey slipping into her favorite herbal tea. It intrigued her greatly.

The monk spoke again.

“Join me.”

It was a tempting offer, but there were limitations to that. The only way she could, if compelled, was to kneel down beside him if he tucked in his knees and if she tuned out the spray at her back since the umbrella was too clunky. It also depended on the probability of her obligations- she had come here not to meditate. A medical conference was in progress a few districts over, and given that she did not wear a skull mask, have blue skin or any other glaring identifiers, Moira had come here on her free time in plain view. The world may be just now catching wind of her contributions to the dangerous field of bioengineering, but the critics and appraisers had no smidgen of an idea on whose face created those Frankenstein articles. She was safe here. For now. And unlike the ragtag brooders now providing her funding, Moira held little animosity to the affairs of an Overwatch agent in her vicinity. Quite the contrary...this one had been budding many hypotheses in her brilliant mind for quite some time.

The scientist lightly knitted her brows as he waited his answer. She held nothing against Zenyatta. Really, she couldn’t have cared less about his agency as a whole- she had been a part of it too at one point. Money spoke for her ethics, not delusions of vengeance or heroism. Standing beside him lit no fires of cruelty in her heart. Moira exhaled quietly, and dropped her grip on the umbrella behind her.

As expected, it buckled and danced away in the contorting winds. She took a kneel beside him as he folded his legs under his torso in order to rest now upon his knees. Together, they kneeled side by side, his head bowed, her own focused on the plaque. As she read, her lips quietly danced to the tune of her thoughts. Finally, they released noise.

“You’re a chancer.”

It was incredibly reckless for him to be here in a city broken by the rebel yells of history. King’s Row had been the peasant’s quarter for many years to the Omnics, who had lived underground or shackled to masters that oppressed and subjugated them. The streets ran rampant with blood and oil during the terrors of the Uprising, and it had been the shrapnel from Mondatta’s faceplate that had glittered the pavement that one terrible night that completely broke the world’s political grounds. Moira was a literal humanitarian. Her hands stirred in the melting pot of human genetics and potential, but Omnics had always fascinated her. From a distance she had admired the heated politics of advanced intelligence- humanity behind steel shells. While she was busy splicing and recoding the human genome, she had listened to many broadcasts and smiled under the fighting words of brilliant minds who debated if robots advanced as he truly had souls.

She had also heard of the peace talks from Mondatta leading up to his hopeful last testament. He had sounded just as human as any other, if not more- that alone had terrified many. Perhaps his human mind had instigated the bullet that sought to explore it.

Her eyes had glazed over during her thoughts, not realizing until the fifth sweep over the same sentence on the plaque that she had been drifting. A small cough cleared her throat as she sniffed the air and straightened her back. Classic examples of feigning composure. Moira never lost it. Never.

Her conscious burned as her hair prickled on her left side. Slowly, she turned her gaze to follow the sensation, widening her bicolored eyes only slightly upon being caught by his curious stare.

Zenyatta had surely said something and she hadn’t even paid attention to it. There was a great story of somberness etched onto the style of his face plate, from the brooding pout to the manner of the slants in his eye slits. The gentle chiming of his laughter betrayed the permanent contemplation on his features.

“Fortune favors me.” He said again.

It was a simple statement, but she felt so much weight behind it. Moira’s thin lips tilted slightly in a bewildered scowl as she considered the words while looking him over. For the supposed new leader of the Shambali order, and now a well renowned spiritual teacher...Zenyatta lived an incredibly humble life. His pants were tattered and fading from the rigors of his travels, and his body was riddled with countless dents and gashes from fights he no doubt wandered into and somehow prevailed. He radiated peace and yet bore scars from so many personal wars. At his current status, he could have bodyguards and a clean new robe, and yet looking at him now was a stark reminder as to why this wasn’t Mondatta sitting before her. He steepled his fingers and hummed as he regarded her. 

He knew enough about her to know of where she stood in the world. Moira had hung her coat on the pegs of many organizations over the last few years in the name of good funding rather than her moral agenda, so her name was whispered quite often among the covert. Matching the face to it was another story. He took note of her pale and thin features, dimming his eyelights as he took noticed of the mismatched colors of her irises; he pondered if it were a cosmetic choice or an altered one, given her love for taking genes apart and recombining them like a dangerous puzzle. An obvious tilt of his head down led her own gaze to fall upon her hands. Her left was in pristine condition, with smooth creamy skin and manicured violet nails. The right was boney and dusted with bruises beneath jagged lines that were either a strange warpaint or scars from her own secret affairs. He looked at the stark contrast of the nails there- they looked vampiric. Thin, long and sharp like black talons. Moira curled both of her hands into tight fists and stuck them into the pockets of her wind-battered coat. 

They rested in silence while the rains outside pelted the cars and buildings. Thankfully, the gusts were carrying them away from the alcove for now, leaving the two wanderers mostly dry. Together, they both looked upon the plaque that bore Mondatta’s name, smudged and dirtied from the many hands that have touched it in reverence. There was also an alter of sorts in the Meridian theater, as a respectful vigil for the memory of the visionary that had died outside of it in the name of his message. Zenyatta could have meditated in peace there, shielded from the elements and unbothered by any wanderers that were dashing between the raindrops. Moira had long finished regarding the story on the placard with the notion that the Omnic beside her had already skimmed it many times before. She felt safe making a bold deduction.

“The government here has such a medieval view towards Omnics.”

It was a sharp claim, but a just one. The creation of the statue in Mondatta’s honor was a valiant start to inspire a new age, but the rest of King’s Row was still bristling in old history. She saw the horrid graffiti painted along the walls of the subway station she had walked through to pass the time. She had noticed the burning cans of oil in the alley slums where old and broken Omnics huddled for warmth after their own parts failed them. She saw the remnants of riots in the dented street signs and the rubbish swept to the side, as if the discarded parts came from run down cars instead of creatures who cried and feared with every ounce of vulnerability that humans held. King’s Row was a haunting place beneath the dignified surface. It was the beautiful serene forest that covered up the haunted castle lurking inside.

Beside her, the robot hummed. It was a soft purr, free of static and monotony that other voice boxes could produce. It was so uncanny it was almost disturbing; she was bewitched. Listening to Zenyatta speak was like listening to a sage trapped inside wires and plating. His tone was so very organic that it caused the hairs of her neck to prickle.

“It does. My brother, Mondatta, gave much to improve their lives. But it was not to be.”

Moira was a staunch advocate for human evolution, so she wasn’t one to speak. Emotions were weakness when they ran rampant, and had no place in her studies of human potential. Hearing those words dug out every strained feeling from deep inside the robot, who uttered them so polished despite it all. She mimicked the statement silently on her own lips, her teeth coming to bite the bottom upon feeling the light swell in the pit of her throat. There was so much pain and emotion that Zenyatta failed to express, all for the sake of her company. Perhaps for the sake of his own doubts. Zenyatta was a man (a deserved title) of the spirit and experience, just as she was a woman of science and exploration. In a way, they walked similar paths to finding truths while being entirely worlds apart.

She figured if her new colleague had the chance again, Amelie would strike Zenyatta down too. It would be one less motivator in the flock that the Talon wolves hungered to limit. Inspiration was dangerous when fed to the right mouths and Moira was no stranger to the sweet intoxication of discovery. She waited until the monk wasn’t looking to retrieve her hands from her pockets to look at them once again, wincing when pain jolted her knee from its kneel on the hard stone. Beside her, Zenyatta was untroubled by the world around him. She wondered if his processors were so advanced that they could feel the chill of the ground and the nipping of the angered winds. It made her bitter at how vulnerable her own body was. In due time, she could fix all of that. With the sweet temptation of emerald green and a few more test tubes, she could resplice her own cells to withstand the tantrums that Mother Nature sent to remind her of how weak she really was in the world.

Moira’s fingers twitched as flushed agitation rushed through her. She was jealous of the Omnics, in many ways.

She almost tore her hands away when one of the malas around the Omnic’s neck broke from its orbit to float serenely down to her palms where it now hovered. It chimed softly like a soft bell while a golden mist turned around it. Never one to deny scientific opportunities, Moira pressed her palms upwards until they touched the cool surface of the meticulous carvins upon it; she hissed in surprise when the serene glow was swallowed up in a violent purple haze. It was the same color as her Decay essence.

“There is chaos within you.” The monk noted calmly.

Moira tore her hands away from the orb and yet it still hovered, stretching out ghostly little tendrils to seek her hands in the same manner that her own vicious spheres clawed into skin to suck out fresh life. She bore her teeth at the orb, yet was timid enough to not immediately strike it.

“Don’t underestimate me…” Her attempts at reputation did not impress him, nor herself. She had spent far too long within the shadows. “...we must all make sacrifices in the name of science.”

Zenyatta watched her spidery fingers twitching near the determined, jumping from every cold zap the violet gaze licked upon her pads. The other malas had long ceased in their slow rotation as his deep focus halted the serenity of his being. Slowly, he reached a hand out.

“Overconfidence is a flimsy shield,” He remarked, using the tip of a finger to guide the mala directly onto the scarred surface of her damaged hand. Through his own will, he banished the discord generated from her stiffness and guided serenity back into the orb through his own inner peace. “Do not be discouraged. Everyone begins in ignorance.”

Moira watched the golden glow return to the orb, her stomach heaving with her body in a sudden jerk as the cold bite of the mala shifted to a warm mist that penetrated right through her skin. Her eyes widened as the soft sweeps of the mist dusted across the bruises and trenches of old scars etched into the valleys of her palm; it was surreal watching her skin slowly turning flush and whole again. The chiming returned, soft in the storming air but carving deeper through worldly physics. She heard it in now in her mind, gentle and calming like a morning breeze under a warm kiss of the sun.

“Being eager to learn is not the same as learning.” the monk continued, but respectfully let his hand hover in the air as she removed her own sheepishly from the kiss of the mala. The orb sought for her palms again, but dutifully returned to join the rest of its kin from around his neck. “You must learn from your mistakes.” He was looking at her damaged hand, lifted from the splotchy wounds that had coated it but still striped with scars. “Always strive for improvement.”

The scientist was regarding him warily, defensive but curious at his gentleness. She had been expecting him to begin his sermon scolding her for her choices. She had been told many times before how foolish and insane she was to go down the path she wanted. Moira was a visionary, just like him. But her visions couldn’t come to life with simple meditations and fanciful words. She had sacrificed many things to strive for human perfection in the building blocks of life, just like he had no doubt suffered much in order to see his guiding light.

Her taloned fingers had been crooked like a hawk’s foot, ready to lunge forward and slice through his wiring to plunge into the pistons along his neck...but she didn’t go through with it. Slowly, she lowered her hand and stared at him, aching in her kneel and from the stiffness of her back. But she didn’t falter.

“Thank you for your contributions.” She started, stiff and cautious, “...stupidity is not a right.”

She hadn’t come here to be tutted at, nor to cause harm to one considered by her new employment to be her enemy. As her brows furrowed, Moira came to the conclusion to remain by Zenyatta’s side; it was the only dry spot in the storm. As was her habit when deep in thought, she splayed her hands up, palms upright as if in meditation while lightly twitching her fingers. “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.”

She watched his hands, as he did her own. Quietly, humbly, Zenyatta turned his own as well to face the ceiling after he propped them onto his knees, looking at her own legs with quiet hope that she would do the same.

Much to his delight, she slowly shifted to join him, grunting just quietly enough to think she hid her satisfaction in the winds while sinking down to mimic his state of rest. Together, appearing like two beings lost in tranquil thoughts did they both look at the name of the placard before them.

“I’m with you.” She said simply. For the first time in their exchange, she heard the fans to the robot whirring beside her, reminding her of his state in the world. 

“Peace be upon you,” The monk said, thankful for their pleasant meeting. His acceptance towards her conjured up strange feelings of warmth within her chest.

They sat in silence, staring beyond the brass plating towards distant thoughts and old memories within their vision as the rain thundered around them outside. Eventually her gaze snapped to attention when she watched the Omnic’s segmented hand reached out to brush in somber fondness against the letters etching out his brother’s name. In an act of will that would label her a traitor among her Talon operatives, Moira embraced his humanity. Spurred by his breathing emotions and living thoughts, she reached out to cup her damaged hand atop of his own.

“I feel neither joy nor remorse amidst such death,” He started, but there was a crack to his voice. It caused her brows to raise. “...death is whimsical today.”

She was lost to that sentiment, but realized quickly that he was referring to their strange meeting. The loss of life which spurred motivation to change the world they see...it was quite a fitting meeting of minds. The old world sage and the new age inventor. Even though it was impossible to tell his expression when he looked back at her, Moira could literally feel the glow of peace radiating from his form while they sat together, faces inches away from another in the tiny sanctuary. It was almost as if the paths of revelation led them here. He felt tranquil in seeing the potential of a rival, and she in remembrance of her purpose.

“...your injuries are fascinating.” She quipped in a hushed tone, darting her gaze over the scrapes along his plates and the fading paint along his jawline. It was more so the ones beyond the armor that enthralled her now- there was something beating and thrumming to life inside that chest cavity. “I will rebuild you.” A particularly long cut crossing from one eye slit to an opposite cheek caught her gaze’s lingering attention the most. Flattered but reasonable, the monk lightly shook his head.

“Life is more than ones and zeros.” He countered, confirming the thoughts she no doubt had. Moira had been correct- science was a powerful beast. He could see it in her eyes that she hungered to know of his secrets. Honorable it was, but dangerous; her quest for knowledge led her into the den of his agency’s rivals. She was persistent in her posturing, however. If only she had her equipment with her, she would demonstrate the power of her own golden healing aura even if it was questionable if cell-generating technology could even temper the composition of metal…

He curled his fingers into a fist beneath her hand, watching her gaze tighten into an uncomfortable squint from his scraping along the placard. Zenyatta moved his free hand to hold it right above her temple along the spot her face plate would be- she wasn’t wearing it today. It unnerved her that he knew where it rested, having never seen her in her proper battle attire at this point in their work. Regardless, she listened as his malas rotated in their spots and his head cocked.

“Pain is an excellent teacher.” He nodded lightly, watching her mirror it to show she was listening. “Walk along the path of enlightenment. If you do not change direction, you may end up where you are headed.” He brought his palm down to her shoulder, cupping it fondly despite their status as near-strangers. The scientist was quiet for a moment, her lips trying to form words as she was no doubt trying to tear herself away from his sagely inputs. The monk chuckled lightly. “Adversity is...an opportunity for change.”

The death of his brother. The sacrifices of her body. The pain of accepting chaos and the peace of embracing risks. Harmony and discord dug its claws into the both of them, and this evening it brought them together. Moira couldn’t deduce a counter argument that was fair and free of her disdain for sentimentality, but she nodded at his last statement. That she could agree on. She watched each mala rotating in its position during the slow rotation of spheres around his neck; it had to have been magnets. That was the scientific reasoning. But science was also full of plotholes that dug deeper when the supernatural knocked politely at the door. She took in the strange light glow of each orb, of the gentle sounds of wind chimes and archaic symbols she swore were slipping through the mists like oil in water. Moira remembered her hand upon his own against the mural, and took deeper notice of his other cupping her shoulder. Both responded to stimuli so uncannily in a human methodology: she felt the twitching of his circuits willing the fingers beneath her cold-numbed digits, and of the almost gentle and organic hold his grip had along her upper arm. It wasn’t the tight grasp of a programmed protocol or the jittery wiring rigging a pulley system but real human behaviors underlying the consciousness of not harming her. She felt the real, thrumming emotion in those limbs and their curled digits with all the realistic flexibility of her own.

Something willed itself in her to stare upon his chest piece like an archeologist studying hieroglyphics, lost in childish thoughts of mystery while hungry for truths. Her unbroken hand started to hover on its own accord, lulled by promises of discovery as her thoughts began to shift and fall into hypotheses and complex formulae. A light nod in her field of vision wasn’t unnoticed, and was the tempting curse which drew forth her fingers. She splayed them all and let her palm touch his chest plates first. The warm heat blooming from within calmed the nerves in her touch; she swore she could almost feel a heartbeat.

“I...I must know how your technology functions.” She stuttered, amazed by it all.

Zenyatta laughed softly as his malas began to break free, slowly floating back over to her to build a larger orbit between them.

“Existence is mysterious, isn’t it?”

**Author's Note:**

> Have a writing request, comments or just wanna see more? Check out my writing blog!
> 
> socks-on-parade.tumblr.com


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